


Perfect Fit

by Kitsune_Heart



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Blanket Permission, Boys in Skirts, Bulges and Nooks, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Couch Sex, Fetish Clothing, First Time, Karkat bottoms once again, M/M, Podfic Welcome, Tentabulges, but it's totally normal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 16:05:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1161771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitsune_Heart/pseuds/Kitsune_Heart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Woah,” Dave supplies from your side. “Nice duds, Vant-Ass.”<br/>“A most platonic of ‘fuck-yous’ to you, Strider,” Karkat says, walking into the common room, struggling with the bag at his side.<br/>Not the bag.<br/>The purse.<br/>It’s a purse.<br/>Which Karkat needs.<br/>Because he has no pockets.<br/>Because he is wearing a skirt.<br/>Same shirt. Same shoes. Gray. Plaid. Pleated. Skirt. <br/>“What,” you say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect Fit

**Author's Note:**

> There's a problem with importing where spaces after some italics are lost. Fixing it as I find them. :/

**Be the impatient Heir.**

“Guys. Guys. Guys. Come on. Guys. _Guys._ Are you ready? _Guys?_ ”

Terezi can’t even see properly, but the look she gives you would cow most men.

Most.

But you are John Egbert. Heir of Breath. Risen to godhood. Creator of a universe. 

And you’re fucking impatient.

“Guuuuuuuys. We’re gonna miss the movieeeeeee.”

“Tooth-beast,” Terezi says, using her latest _utter nonsense_ nickname specifically to piss you off, but not to piss you off in _that_ way. “While you humans have been faffing about for, oh, _fourteen hours_ , we have been awake for _one._ And there are only so many _ablution cascades._ ”

“There’d be more avvailable,” a rather deep, warbling voice answers, the owner walking into the common room, running long, thin fingers through what could already be considered perfectly styled hair, “if some people wwern’t so uptight.”

Terezi flashes her teeth and you could swear her eyes glow as they land on her preening team mate. “I wasn’t being _uptight._ ”

Eridan mutters something you can’t quite hear, but Terezi must, because she takes one step towards the sea dweller.

And then finds her head covered in a sopping towel.

Pretty much everyone in the room—you and your friends from the Sburb game, the weird alternate-universe versions of your guardians, and most of the trolls in various states of readiness for the night—goes silent, allowing the _honk_ the new entrant makes to echo. Gamzee’s hair is pretty much as messy wet as it is dry, but it gets quite a lot messier as Terezi rips the towel into thin strips and begins to chase him around the room, trying to bind his limbs.

Eridan pouts, fins wilting. All across the room, his fellow game players smile at his continued failure.

It almost makes you feel for the guy. Except you remember how he kept looking at you as he lapped up his grubsicle dessert last Wednesday. Trolls don’t get the not-a-homo thing, but Eridan especially doesn’t seem to take the hint. He’s got a concupiscent quadrant empty, and he’s looking for any troll or human willing to fill him.

It. Fill it. Bleh.

But you digress. Eridan has arrived, and so has Gamzee, which means... “Alright, everyone’s ready, let’s gooooo!”

“Actually,” yet another voice — and one you _really_ should have realized was absent, what with being co-friendleaders and all — calls from the corridor, “I’d be ready if _someone_ had done their assigned _chore_ yesterday so I could have some fucking _PANTS!”_

You look up, about to snap at the further delay, but you maybe should have been paying attention to what he _said_. Because Karkat is standing in the doorway, a bright-red towel wrapped around his waist, the only other thing covering him being the droplets of water off his flattened hair, flowing over his shoulders and tight chest and flat stomach and—

You look away.

“Gamzee,” Karkat snarls, walking into the room, across the periphery of your vision, to confront his clown friend. “Can you tell me... _who_ was in charge of laundering our clothing yesterday?”

Pretty much anyone else would have the grace to sound ashamed, but Gamzee still has that slow, casual tone that sounds like he’s always _on_ something. “I don’t rightly know. I never remember to check the list.”

A deep, calming breath comes from Karkat. Despite that, he’s still seething when he says “You. It was... _your_ turn, Gamzee. And now...I have... _no_ pants. None. Can you see...the problem here?”

“Ah, well, not with you wearing that little towel I can’t.”

There’s a slap and a chuckle in response to what amounts to a love-tap to the indigo-blood, and then Karkat gets into his verbal stride.

You heart is sinking. Across the room, you can see by Jake’s face that he’s having a similar reaction. If any other person here wasn’t ready, they’d probably pass and welcome a night home alone. But Karkat... _Karkat_. It’s the _movies and Karkat_. You _can not_ leave him behind when you go to the _movies_. No no _noooooooooo!_

“Karkat,” says Kanaya in her matronly, soft tones, rising from her seat beside Rose, jade sun-dress shifting about her knees as she approaches the screaming troll, “if you’ll allow me, I have an outfit I completed last night which should fit you.”

“YEAH, SURE, OKAY!” Karkat bellows as he continues to smack Gamzee’s chest and shoulders. He never really lets up. Just continues screaming as Gamzee picks him up and takes him to the hallway, pushing him after Kanaya’s retreating back. She bestows much papping and he much ranting until they are out of sight.

You let out a relieved laugh that maybe is too loud, but, really, you’re justified! Karkat is almost ready, you all can leave on time, it’s movie night, he’s not going to be naked! Yay! Not naked!

You cough and decide to spend some time talking to Dave. Your bro. Two righteous dudes.

You don’t even have the time to get antsy when you hear footsteps and chattering between the returning trolls. Smiling, you look to the doorway, bouncing a little. “Alright, let’s gooooooooo.”

“Woah,” Dave supplies from your side. “Nice duds, Vant-Ass.”

“A most platonic of ‘fuck-yous’ to you, Strider,” Karkat says, walking into the common room, struggling with the bag at his side.

Not the bag.

The purse.

It’s a purse.

Which Karkat needs.

Because he has no pockets.

Because he is wearing a skirt.

Same shirt. Same shoes. Gray. Plaid. Pleated. Skirt. 

“What,” you say, not even collected enough to make it a question.

“Let’s go, people,” Karkat says, pulling out a transit card, letting the flap fall back over the purse, not bothering to secure it. “The bus should be here in less than a minute, and I am not going to a later showing because you all want to stand about yapping.”

“Karkat is angry that someone is talking,” Dave says, standing, a miniscule twist in his lips, “we have reached max irony.”

Karkat raises an elegant middle finger. Or perhaps it’s only elegant because of the pleated gray skirt that shifts high up on his thighs. “You. Mouth. Shut. Everyone. Outside.”

“Uh….” You look about the room, waiting for the objections. 

But Gamzee still looks distant, Terezi and most everyone else has already staged themselves at the door, and the only troll who has paid even an ounce of attention is Eridan. And all he’s doing is letting his eyes drift along Karkat’s long, toned, hairless legs, wow, why are they hairless, is this the insect thing? Of the guys, you’ve only seen Tavros’s legs, and you sort of assumed their smoothness was related to his...er...relationship relative to Gamzee. And you sort of assumed the girls shaved, but maybe they don’t? How does a guy even _shave_ that much, you get annoyed just having to do your face. Is that why he was the last one out? Was he in the shower for half an hour, soaping up his legs and dragging a razor up them in long, careful strokes until he was smooth and ready and —

“EGBERT!”

You yelp, turning to look at Karkat, knowing that a tinge of pink is going to show up on your cheeks if you can’t get it under control.

“MOVE YOUR ASS!” Karkat, at the door, bares his teeth and props a hand on his hip, canting it out so the hem of the skirt swishes, continuing to move as the door is opened and a slight wind comes in to play with the thin fabric.

Your mouth flops open. Too late. Too late. You can feel the heat rising, you’re going to—

“Come along, John,” another familiar voice calls, and you feel a smooth, plump arm hook with yours, dragging you forward. Rose steers you towards Karkat — no no nonono — and then past and down the stairs of the apartment building you’ve all crammed into. “I believe we shall have the most stimulating conversation!”

You are only a tiny bit grateful to Rose as she gets you down to the sidewalk just in time for the bus to roll up, prompting you inside and towards the back, like you’re the “cool kids” on the bus, when you feel pretty much as uncool as you have ever felt in your entire life.

It doesn’t help that you’re shifting your gaze back down the aisle as Karkat climbs into the bus, legs lifting high on the steps, skirt riding up and up and—

“Sit,” Rose commands, though her voice is, as always, even. It’s accompanied by her arm unlocking from yours, hand clamping on your shoulder and shoving you into the window seat. Normally, you’d not budge under such pressure, but there’s something that’s making your knees weak.

That thing is maybe the sight of Karkat beginning his ascent to the bus’s second story, long legs again rising high, shadows shifting, thighs flexing, skirt hiking up until—

“John.” Rose grabs your chin and forces you to meet her eyes.

You kinda hate her in that moment.

“Let us discuss gender politics on Alternia,” she says, black-painted lips curved in the smallest of smiles.

You scowl, brows coming in tight together. “Wh—”

“There are none,” Rose interrupts.

You are about fifteen steps behind. Those fifteen steps being the ones that rise up to the second level, where Karkat must be sitting now, smoothing his hands under his thighs to tuck his skirt, crossing his ankles, looking out at the city below, damp hair drying in the bus’s slipstream. He’s probably calming down, ready to enjoy the show, maybe complaining to one of the other trolls about how humans name movies and—

You eyes narrow to paper-thin slits.

Eridan is placing his hand on the guide rail and beginning the climb upstairs.

Your thighs tense, readying you to rise, when Rose jerks on your chin again, rattling your brain.

“ _John._ _Listen._ ”

You turn your narrowed eyes on your fellow player, giving her about ten seconds to explain before you abandon her to her chatter.

“You know that gender doesn’t matter for troll romance,” she says, ignoring her own lover’s strange proclivities. “But gender doesn’t matter for _anything_ with trolls. Not in jobs, barring the empress-ship. Not in expected behavior. And not in attire.”

“Yeah?” You say, not caring in the least, because Eridan’s scarf has just disappeared from your sight.

“Stop,” Rose says, shaking your head once more, “ _staring._ ”

“I’m not _staring_ ,” you shout, flailing your arms, freeing your abused chin from Lalonde’s grasp.

Your outburst has drawn the attention of your fellow game-players and the sundry travelers who were on the bus before you arrived. You’re once again struck by how weird it is that the other humans and trolls on the bus find your _behavior_ weirder than your _species,_ but the world you all created makes you foreign only because of your memories.

Rose still has that miniscule smile. “John—”

“I’m _not,_ ” you hiss. The look she gives makes you squirm in your seat. 

“John. The only time you talk to Karkat is when you are discussing your shared taste in deplorable movies, and now—”

“They’re not _deplorable_ ,” you interrupt, “they’re cinematic mas—”

“And that would perhaps be understandable if you weren’t just the _best_ of friend-leaders during the game,” Rose interrupts right back, “but your reticence since our arrival on this planet has been quite irksome to...oh...the _entire_ community.”

You scowl. “Why would anyone else care if we talk or not?”

Rose gives you a good minute-long stare. Or, not stare really. But she just observes you, as if expecting you to break.

You do not break. You may...look away for a few moments here and there...but you don’t _break._

She eventually rolls her eyes. “But for you to gain such a _sudden_ interest smacks of...a certain...double-standard.”

“I don’t have a... _sudden interest_ ,” you say, once more looking towards the stairs. What is going on up there? Is anyone else up there? You didn’t see any other player go above, and there’s plenty of space down here, so you doubt many other passengers are up top. If any. So Karkat is up there. Alone. With Eridan. In a skirt. In that Karkat is in a skirt. Not Eridan.

Which is, somehow, weird, and you don’t know why.

But you digress. Nothing is stopping you from getting out of your seat, now. Not even Rose. Not with how clumsily she grabs for you as you jump over the seat in front, earning a shout from the bus driver as you hit the floor and storm towards the stairs.

Before you can reach them, there is a scream and a crash. Your heart stutters and you leap towards the stairs, wind whirling about your torso, ready to shoot up top.

You barely jump back in time to avoid being squished by Eridan Ampora, falling down the stairs in a rather tight series of somersaults before landing on his back, lower legs up at an awkward angle against the bus’s side.

You blink down at the troll, whose wide eyes aren’t actually looking at you. His eyes just didn’t close when he was knocked the fuck out. And, even if he was looking, a good bit of purple blood is falling from a cut on his temple and threatening to pool about his eyes, with no move on his part to wipe it away.

You look up the stairwell.

Karkat stands there, hands gripping the rails, allowing him to lean forward, nubby horns jutted out in a clear threat display, along with two rows of bright teeth. His legs are at shoulder width in a show of dominance, you _know_ that’s what it is, but you’re looking up and...and up...and….

“IF YOU EVER TRY THAT AGAIN, I WILL BREAK OFF YOUR HORNS AND GIVE YOUR FINS _PIERCINGS!”_

At your feet, Eridan groans. You don’t even look down as you give him a little kick to the side of the head. He stops groaning.

Up top, Karkat grins, nods approval, and spins away.

With the wind and the spin and the shortness of the skirt, there is a brief moment where gravity is ignored and you swear you see the barest...hint...of red.

Then Karkat is gone, apparently content to be alone, and you stand over the dazed body of Eridan Ampora.

It’s only another two stops to the movie theater, but you wish it was far, far longer. You dare not turn to face any of your friends before it’s necessary. When you do look at Rose, you’re expecting her all-knowing, irritating smirk. The one that made you decide to _not_ date her.

Instead, she is glaring at you. Which is far, far more frightening than it should be to a god.

* * *

 

It’s not a movie you’d been anticipating for weeks on end. Sadly, the one you _wanted_ to see when you brought up movie night — the latest offering by Bill Murray, a nice, _meaty_ role for a very accomplished and respected actor — was vetoed about ten seconds after everyone agreed on the movie night concept. Instead, you were dragged into the latest comic-book-adaptation, and while you agree on principle that Robert Downey Jr. is a good actor and that Chris Hemsworth conveys the overconfidence of a Norse god with great aplomb, the Atheist-Asgardian buddy-movie is a general disappointment to you.

That or you can’t concentrate with Rose sitting behind you, glaring at the back of your head.

Or it’s the distraction that’s caused by the scuffle Eridan and Feferi get into right before the climax of the movie, resulting in them having to leave the theater, but only after having ruined your suspension-of-disbelief. By the time the credits have rolled and the teaser scene of Clark Gregg watching a sunset in Tahiti has ended, which is greeted by cheers from the crowd, you’re in quite the foul mood.

When you walk out of the theater to find Feferi’s teeth latched onto Eridan’s fin, his hand getting adventurous under her shirt, you have begun to wonder if you may need one of those weird troll-romance cock-blocks. Because you kinda want to kill him.

You’re saved by Sollux storming up, horns sparking. He hip-checks the male sea dweller away from his matesprit. Eridan bares his teeth at the psionic, but gives a far greater display to Feferi when she sticks her tongue out and shoves her hand into Sollux’s back pocket, ushering him towards the exit door. Eridan tosses his head, sloppy-makeouts-ruffled hair falling back into place as he follows after, longer legs soon bringing him level with the pair.

He rushes ahead right after landing a well-aimed and powerful smack on the former princess’s backside, earning a yelp and swipe of her claws. Sollux grumbles when she breaks away to follow her kismesis, but he allows them their moment.

Trolls confuse the fuck out of you.

“So,” Tavros hedges, tugging at the sleeves of his jacket, “uh...are we heading home or—”

“Pupaaaaaaaa,” Vriska says, jumping forward so she can drape her arms around Tavros’s neck, walking behind him, stepping on the backs of his sandals. “The night is yooooooung. All the _cool_ places are open now. Dancing. We should go,” she pauses a moment to lean in just a little further, whispering in his ear, “ _dancing.”_

“Um...I’m not...a very good dancer, Vriska,” Tavros mutters, tilting his head to get his ears further away from his kismesis’s teeth.

“I know,” Vriska says, jumping to nip at his ear before spinning away, leaving him to press at the sudden flow of blood. “You can just watch as I get aaaaaaaaall the partners,” she chirrups, stopping and looking over her shoulder, allowing her hair to continue it’s arc for a few more seconds. “ _All_ of them.”

The chubby troll ducks his head between his shoulders, giving the girl a resentful glare, which only faded as a large, well-clawed hand descended on his shoulder, dragging him back against the chest of the largest troll in the company.

“Sounds like a wicked good time, TavBro,” Gamzee says, his face still in its serene state, though he is leveling it on Vriska, who goes stiff. “I’m game.”

“Yes, sounds like great fun,” Terezi agrees, joining the drama.

The addition of her moirail gives Vriska back her motion, and she is at Terezi’s side, chattering about wing-trolls and manipulation.

“Well, I, for one, am interested in a far more...sedate evening,” Kanaya says, sniffing at the over-excited trolls. “Rose? I believe I heard on the news that there is a musical performance in front of the library. Would you be so interested?”

“Music!?” Jade chirrups, jumping before her old friend, transforming Rose’s flirtatious smile into knife-thin lips. “What kind? Oh, it doesn’t matter, let’s GO!”

“Purrrrrrhaps,” Nepeta trilled from her spot sitting on Equius’s shoulder, her tail lashing, “the _whelp_ should learn when people want to be alone.”

There is a general silence in the group as everyone turns to watch the coming chaos.

Jade hair puffs up, tail curling high on her back, teeth bared and a low growl coming from her throat.

“Uh...ladies….” Equius whispers, holding his hands out, trying to stall the inevitable. “There is no need to—”

And then he merely stands as his matesprit and moirail begin a snarling, yowling whirlwind about his body.

You give him a small smile, and he just shrugs.

The divisions continue. Equius — knowing that the two women will not calm down without being given free reign — informs the group that he will escort them to the park. Feferi convinces her two beaus to take her out to sushi, and between the two of their incomes, they might be able to afford her luxurious appetites. Aradia — Dave’s newest apprentice in the art of rhythm and bullshit — is eager to accompany him to a record store. And, just when you’re beginning to think you have a night to yourself, where you can be selfish and indulgent, a body just a little shorter than your own appears at your side and elbows you in your ribs, not so much knocking the air from your lungs, but more shocking you with such a harsh pain that you _forget_ to breath.

“Hey, there’s one more showing tonight,” Karkat says, jerking his head to indicate the billboard. “It’s the one you wanted to see, right? Let’s go.”

With all the other discussions and dramas playing out around you, pretty much no one notices how you turn to respond to Karkat, stalling when your eyes drop to the hem of his skirt, which is fluttering in the wind just as much as your heart flutters in your chest.

He stares at you.

It takes some time to realize he’s staring because you haven’t answered.

“Oh!” You laugh, loud and uncomfortable. “Uh...yeah! Sounds good!”

“Cool. I’ll get the tickets,” the troll proclaims, proudly opening his purse and taking out a thin wallet. He’d not had much to spare back on Alternia, but his bookstore job allows him enough to indulge. “You get food. Something meaty. I’m fucking _starving._ ”

“Oh...kay,” you manage, watching as he goes. Watching the slight cant to his hips and how it makes the skirt flit left and right, high up on his thighs.

“Wwoah,” Eridan says, suddenly at your side, where you’d _much rather he not be_. “Hook, line, and heh...sinker.” He looks at you. Waggles his eyebrows. Nudges you with his elbow. “Got any tips for me?”

“Fuck off,” you snap, clenching your fists, wishing that certain things — like your weapons — were brought into this world along with all of your friends.

“Wooooo,” Eridan says, fanning at his face. “Now, now. Let’s not enter such a gray area, John.” Tilting his head, he wiggles his fins, the gesture far more obscene than the movements of his eyebrows had been. “Unless you’ve got an auspistice in mind…?”

The sea dweller’s face gets acquainted with the ground and you walk away, towards the theater doors.

You can, once more, feel Rose’s eyes on your back, and you don’t appreciate any of her assumptions. It’s a movie. Two guys who like movies, enjoying a movie together. He’s getting tickets and you’re getting food. Equal exchange. You won’t owe each-other anything by the end of this. Nothing at all. Social contract carried through.

You ignore how your phone begins buzzing with text message after text message as you leave the rest of your companions behind.

Tickets are taken at the showing doors themselves, giving you plenty of time to pick up food. As the total is tallied, you begin to think that, maybe, it’s not quite equal exchange. In fact, you’ve doubtless been shafted. Yeah, this is so not fair, why the fuck is a box of popcorn so expensive?. Karkat’s going to owe you. You’re mulling this over as you pick up the crappy cardboard box of food and move away from the counter, running almost smack-dab into the troll’s chest. He has, apparently, been standing behind you, waiting for the transaction to end. Waiting to pounce.

“Here’s your ticket,” he rushes, ducking under your armload of food and shoving his hand into your pocket, taking your moment of surprise to advantage, grabbing the largest, meatiest food item on the tray — a double-patty cheeseburger — from the top, shoving the entire thing down his gullet. You’d suspect that he didn’t taste it at all, except for how he trills and bounces on the balls of his feet. His...skirt...flipping about.

“ _Fuck_. Never missing breakfast again. Here, gimme.”

“What? No!” You just manage to raise the precarious box over your head before Karkat tips the entire thing into his stomach. Your own is growling, ready for a late-night snack, and you’re not letting him empty your wallet without having at least a few handfuls of popcorn.

“I got the tickets, you give me the food!” Karkat makes a leap for it, but only gets a few inches off the ground. Not because of a lack of fitness, but because he is trying to keep from toppling everything out of your hands.

“You got the tickets for _us_ , I got the food for _us_ ,” you snap, backing up until you’re against the wall, still holding the food up like it’s the long-lost 11th-15th commandments.

“Then give me _mine!”_ Karkat demands, jumping up, fingers twiddling in a desperate attempt at nutrition. He comes down closer and closer and you realize a bit too late what that means. But by then he is jumping up against your chest, his entire body jostling yours, his skirt pressing to your pants, catching, riding up as he falls, people are looking, _guys_ are turning and smirking and elbowing their buddies and—

“Stop it, Karkat!” You shout, louder than intended, and drop your arms, moving the food to one hand and grabbing Karkat’s shoulder with the other, spinning the pair of you until you can slam the troll’s back into the wall you were once trapped against. It’s...a little unfortunate — _and entirely unplanned! —_ that one of your knees comes up between Karkat’s legs, forcing them apart.

You back off, holding the food over your chest, looking deep into the waffle-fries.

“W...wait at least until we sit down,” you mutter.

Karkat continues leaning against the wall, brows raised, but, thankfully, silent and far less pushy about the food. Though not entirely cooperative. Less than a minute later, a gray hand shoots into the food box, liberating a handful of fries. 

You glare at the troll as he chews.

Karkat smirks and licks grease and salt off his fingers, humming.

You grumble and, in retaliation, eat a large handful of waffle-fries yourself.

Karkat tries to take advantage of your full-fisted distraction to go for a second round himself, but gets a harsh rap on the knuckles as reward.

You half-expect the troll to give you big, pouty eyes. To play with the edge of his skirt. To lean up against you and whisper “please?” in a soft, soft voice.

Instead he opens his mouth and hisses, and you lean back, hand squishing your food into a deep-fried ball.

Sensing advantage, Karkat steps forward, hand reaching out once more, fingers twitching, anticipating delicious, greasy sustenance.

“Karkaaaaaaat,” you warn, holding up your knuckles once more. You don’t move the food away. You leave it open. Tempting. Go for it, you little bastard. Try me.

You wouldn’t say that Karkat backs down. But he bides. Wise and patient, he waits. And you remain on edge, guardian of shitty movie-theater food. 

Eventually, Karkat subsides and begins observing the nearby posters, one of which advertises your showing. “Huh. So. You’ve got a human Troll Bill Murray?” He says, going on tip-toes to study the wise actor’s perfect, perfect face. “And you actually like him?”

You light up, joining in observation of your idol. “Oh yeah! His run on Saturday Night Live? _Iconic._ Ghost Busters? _A legacy._ And even Zombieland! That, that was... _heartbreaking._ ” You let out a deep sigh. “This movie...is going to be...awesome.”

Karkat looks over his shoulder at you and snorts. “Hide your bulge, Egbert,” he advises.

You blink, knowing he’s said something salacious, and not wanting to understand what. “Well...so, is there some Bill Murray on Alternia?” You try to do quote hands, but yelp as the food wobbles, so you have to trust to inflection. “‘Troll Bill Murray’?”

“Yeah,” Karkat grumbles. At your tilting head, he goes on, “He’s not a bad actor, just not in much I like. I mean, he was _okay_ in _In which three professors of theohorrocratic studies establish a business to eradicate malevolent spirits, eventually gaining fame after ridding the city of one of its most well-known ghosts, hiring a fourth member and a vaguely kismetic secretary to handle the growing demand for their services, ridding the city of many malevolent creatures until they come face-to-face with two possessed trolls claiming to be bringing about the return of a creature from the darkest, furthest ring, which is eventually brought back, despite their best efforts, as a giant embodiment of the Stay Crunch Chewy Grub, the team finally managing to exorcise the creature for good in a moment wherein they defy earlier warnings and allow the energy streams of their weapons to touch in a symbolically erotic moment; featuring shifting pale affections, occasional instances of brief kismetic and auspistic feelings, and one matespritship established by the end of the movie.”_

You stare at Karkat. “How...do you remember...wait, _erotic?_ ”

That last bit was said a bit too loud. The crowd again looks at the pair of you, though only for a few moments.

“Well, yeah,” Karkat says, shrugging and taking your moment of confusion to swipe at the food in your arms, catching a fry on his claws. “ _Don’t cross the streams_. Doesn’t take a genius to realize what they were implying.”

You are about to deny that absurd idea when Karkat pops the waffle fry and two fingers into his mouth, sucking on his digits for a moment before popping them out. There is a faint red sheen on his flesh when he’s done.

“Oh, they’re letting us in,” he says, looking to the front of the line. “Come on. I want better seats than we got at the _last_ movie.”

You follow your movie buddy in, still stuck on his words. _Erotic?_ What the hell? That scene was not...anything! Just a callback, a clever Checkov’s gun, but it was...just...a thing!

You perhaps shouldn’t have worried about seats. There was a small line, yes, but that seems to have been more about being inside, where it was warm, and not about good seats. In fact, a good number of the movie goers head straight to the back of the theater and...well... _proceed._

You scowl as you take a mid-theater, center seat. “Classy.”

“Hmm?” Karkat looks at you, running his hands along his ass as he sits, tucking the skirt beneath his legs and crossing his legs.

“Uh...the….” You jerk your head towards the back of the room, then quickly look forward again. Ignore. Ignore _everything_.

Karkat makes no effort to be discreet as he follows your gaze and, realizing the source of your irritation, bares his teeth. “Oh, come on,” he growls.”

“I know,” you reply, glad for his agreement.

“Just go blow him in the bathroom during previews,” Karkat mutters, facing the screen.

“Exact..leeeeeeh,” you wheeze.

Karkat reaches for your crotch.

You flinch back. “Woah, no, I d—”

Your crotch grows a degree lighter as Karkat claims a bag of fries and begins stuffing it down his throat.

Your lap grows no less comfortable, however, as the pressure now comes from sources beside the weight of the food. You can’t bring yourself to take any further bites. Which Karkat takes full advantage of, waiting until a quarter way through the movie to move beyond his half of the meal and into yours. He better be careful about those calories. He’s got a slight tummy, but Karkat always whines about extra weight going to his ass, and if it does that, his perfect skirt will barely stretch to cover him, riding up over plump flesh, exposing him to cold air and hungry eyes and wandering hands and—

And there is halfhearted applause as the credits begin to roll.

The “crowd” is standing, wandering out of the theater as the lights come up. And you sit there. Trapped. Heart racing. Fighting furiously with the problem in your pants.

“Anything after the credits?” Karkat asks, still facing the screen, shifting his legs to let the other viewers past.

“Uh...I don’t...know,” you say, wishing the troll would stop talking, but so, _so_ thankful he said that. Three minutes of credits. This could work. You stare at the screen, reading every name, thinking about how old those people are, how gross they got during long hours on the set and in editing rooms, days of lost sleep against a deadline, how they didn’t even have time to put on clean clothes, just stripped off their little skirts and slid both hands up their thighs, biting their lips, looking at you, groaning, “ _please, John—”_

The theater lights flash on, bright and exposing.

“Well, that was disappointing,” Karkat says. Then, with great diplomacy, turns you to say “But the movie itself was good. Not as good as _In which three professors of theohorrocratic studies….”_ There is a moment when you think he’ll say the entire title again, but he shrugs. “But it had its merits.” He stands.

This is it.

Moment...of truth.

In seconds, your life will be ruined.

“Some day,” Karkat says, “you’ll realize that troll cinema is vastly superior to your shitty human stuff.”

Oh.

_Oh._

It. Is. _On._

The empty food box begins crumpling in your hands. “At least human _titles_ don’t give away the entire plot of the movie!”

“No, you just revel in your shitty _plot twists_ ,” Karkat says, throwing up his hands. “Look, this movie is about a kid who talks to ghosts! And he talks to a psychoterrorist! Plot twist, it’s because the psychoterrorist is a ghost! Haha! That makes two hours of stilted dialogue and awkward character interactions all _worth it._ ”

“Stilted dialogue!?” You stand. “Stilted dialogue!?” Holding out your hand, you speak in your deepest, manliest voice. “Wachon! You...are my...secret...kis...mesis!”

“Don’t you fucking _dare_ ,” Karkat hisses, going on his tip-toes and poking at your chest, “bad-mouth _In which—_ ”

“Oh, I’d _never_ ,” you gasp, hand flying to your heart. “I mean...I can’t even get halfway through the title without needing a wiz!”

“You actually, literally _believe_ that your movies are _better_ than mine?” Karkat growls, stepping up, in your face. As much as he can, with the height difference.

You bend over to give him the bit of height assistance he needs, staring straight in his eyes. “Karkat,” you say, lips curling up, “even the other _trolls_ won’t watch your shity movies.”

“Rrrrrr!” You’re certain your co-friendleader’s eyes are glowing red as he pushes up further on his toes, thunking his forehead against yours, nubby horns rubbing at your temples. “My apartment. _In which three professors of theohorrocratic studies establish a business to eradicate malevolent spirits, eventually gaining fame after ridding the city of one of its most well-known ghosts, hiring a fourth member and a vaguely kismetic secretary to handle the growing demand for their services, ridding the city of many malevolent creatures until they come face-to-face with two possessed trolls claiming to be bringing about the return of a creature from the darkest, furthest ring, which is eventually brought back, despite their best efforts, as a giant embodiment of the Stay Crunch Chewy Grub, the team finally managing to exorcise the creature for good in a moment wherein they defy earlier warnings and allow the energy streams of their weapons to touch in a symbolically erotic moment; featuring shifting pale affections, occasional instances of brief kismetic and auspitic feelings, and one matespritship established by the end of the movie. Now._ ”

“Don’t see how it can be now, after you had to say the entire. Fucking. Title.” You’re going to continue with the insults, but Karkat grabs your upper arm and drags you out of the theater, past a pair of very nervous employees holding brooms and pans.

Transit runs often enough in the city, but you’re still surprised when you don’t even have to break stride between the theater’s exit and the bus’s doors. You and Karkat wave your transit cards and throw yourselves into the nearest seats.

The next half hour is devoted to such an intense debate about the merits of your respective filmography that you forget the other passengers, the clanging of the bus on the outdated streets, and, inconveniently, your own destination. You apologize to the bus driver when she’s forced to pull back over ten seconds after leaving your stop, and sprint down the street to distance yourself from the shame.

The house is dark as you approach, and you frown. “Where is everyone?”

“Jail, probably,” Karkat mutters.

You’d protest if that hadn’t been an actual issue last week. Rose had not had the grace to be embarrassed, though Jake at least apologized. Nepeta had just smiled.

Once inside, you almost go to the subdivide you share with Jade and Davesprite, but Karkat is behind you, thumping your back with his nubby horns as you slow.

“Keep going, idiot.”

You scowl and slow your steps further. “Why not come back down here? My place is comfier.”

“I would agree if I hadn’t heard about you walking in on Jade and Equius more than once, and I do not need to see that. _No one_ needs to see that. I would pity you the experience if I didn’t think you somehow deserved it. Rose and Kanaya, at the least, have the decency to lock the door.”

You don’t protest, seeing as he’s 100% right. You’d spent the entire week after the first instance unable to eat, and Equius had soaked every towel within ten feet whenever he saw you for six months after.

You get going back up the stairs, and up and up, until your thighs begin to burn. It’s only four floors, but the building is old and the stairs are quite steep, forcing your knees to almost a 90 degree angle. Fuck, as much as he storms up and down these stairs, Karkat should have the ass of a bodybuilder, not his round, grabbable—

Walking up stairs with an erection is hard. It’s hard, and no one understands.

You reach the top with short breath, but Karkat just passes you by, fishing keys from his pockets and going to his door.

Which is, of course, about the time you realize that the building is empty, that Karkat has invited you back to his place, and that, when he opens the door and bends over to give Vodka Mutini a scritch, that his skirt rides up _perfectly,_ showing, yes, bright red, plain panties that only cover about half of his round ass, the sight leaving you hard and pulsing in seconds.

You rush past Karkat—who turns, still crouched, to watch you with narrowed eyes—and flop down on the couch, slouching and throwing your legs onto the coffee table. “So, yeah, get your shitty movie, Karkat. Let’s do this. Watch a movie. Go time.”

Karkat comes up to the back of the couch, Mutini draped across his shoulders like a stole. “Okay,” he says with a shrug that barely disturbs the cat. “Drink?”

“Nope,” you say with a dry mouth. “Fine.”

Another shrug—this time earning an annoyed mrowl from Mutini—and Karkat goes to the TV, kneeling before it. He curses as he wrenches the shitty Ikea cabinet open, the jostle prompting Mutini to melt off his shoulders and walk away, tail high. Karkat ignores the cat, pulling out a few movies, peering into the cabinet, and cursing before going down on his knees to stuff his head right inside the rickety furniture.

You sit there. And watch. And realize that there is no way you’re getting through tonight alive. Not when Karkat parts his knees, crouching further, cursing, not noticing how his skirt is hiking up and how his back arches and fuck shit _fuck_.

“Alright, shitstain,” Karkat says, plunging an arm deep into the cabinet. “Prepare to have your worthless life given some modicum of meaning, if only for one hour and forty-seven minutes. Including credits.” With a flourish, he pulls out a video case with a cover consisting of clip art of trolls given a glow effect to resemble spirits, covered over in about six paragraphs of text in comic sans.

Karkat glances over his shoulder and smirks.

You fail to stop staring at your co-friendleader’s ass.

After a few more seconds, Karkat does you the favor of shaking the case, breaking the spell of his posterior.

“Uh...yeah, sure,” you say, adding a derisive snort. “Cause it’s going to put me into a coma.”

“Because it’s going to blow,” Karkat says, popping out the disc, “your,” he continues, pressing it into the player, “mind,” he concludes, sitting up, putting a hand to his hip as he turns his torso to look at you, the TV lighting up with the image of a snarling meowbeast.

If you hold your own breath, can you kill yourself?

The spell is momentarily broken as Karkat staggers to his feet. He’s ungainly enough that you don’t flip out as he takes the two steps to the couch and flops down beside you, thigh brushing yours for the briefest moment.

“Uh...do you...need a minute?” You ask, pretty sure your voice isn’t squeaking. Pretty sure.

“For what?” Karkat asks, going through the DVD menus.

“Uh...well...your...clothes are probably ready,” you say. “You could...go...get...comfy?”

“That’s four flights of stairs, moron,” Karkat says, selecting the “play” icon. Or what you assume is play. It’s all Alternian. Alternian movies have a bevy of language options—including English, which has always puzzled the hell out of you—but the menu select screen is never translated on these movies. “And I’m not doing Gamzee’s job. Whoever does laundry delivers. He knows that.”

Fuck. There has to be some other way to protest this!

Karkat seems to be waiting for further words, as well, watching you. “Egbert. Do... _you_ need to get ‘comfy’?”

It’s only for a millisecond, you swear to _God_ , but your eyes flit down to the skirt riding up high on Karkat’s thighs.

You look back into the troll’s eyes, which have long-since lost their adolescent black irises, gone to a startling red.

“Nope,” you say, snapping your head back to the TV.

Karkat shakes his head and lets out a sigh before joining you in paying attention to the TV, hitting “play.”

You swear, the movie title is on the screen—in English, so Karkat did you the favor of subtitles, it seems—for five minutes and, by the end, you don’t even need to watch the movie.

Which is good, because you are not, in fact, paying attention. Really, there’s no other option once Karkat sets the remote down and begins occupying his hands on the hem of his skirt. Pinching it. Rolling the hem up into a tube. Twisting. Pulling the edge up his thighs, which you swear have a bare red tint.

You could find out for sure. Get a closer peek. Down on your knees, between Karkat’s thighs, up his little skirt, his hands in your hair, pulling until it hurts and he screams and—

Karkat gasps. “John, did you _see_ that!?”

“What!?” You squeak. You definitely squeak.

“Did you _see_ that?” Karkat repeats, pointing at the movie. “Cinematic _mastery_ , fuck!”

“Um...yeah, sure, Karkat,” you say, rolling your eyes. “It was amazing.”

“Don’t you take that tone with me, Egbert,” Karkat says, baring his teeth. “Even you have to admit, that scene was perfect. The tension, the anger, and...and….” Karkat flails. “And when he grabbed her shoulders! Agh!”

“Yes, yes, it gave you the feels,” you say, rolling your eyes. “It was majestic.” When you reorient your eyes, Karkat is...glaring at you.

He is, in an unprecedented move...silent.

“What?” You ask.

“You. Fucking. _ASSHOLE!_ ” Karkat screams and begins beating you with one of Rose’s beautifully embroidered, passive-aggressive pillows. ‘Silence is golden,’ it reads. Based on how Karkat is yelling, he doesn’t read decorative accents.

“What?” You yelp, putting your hands up, making grabs at the tasseled fringe. “What!?”

“There. Wasn’t. Any. Woman. In. That. Scene!” He bellows, striking you with each word. “Fuck, we have to start the entire movie over again!”

“What? WHY?” No, you _can’t_. Your _dick will fall off_.

“Because you will not fathom the cultural _impact_ ,” Karkat’s pillow strikes your face, “if you don’t pay _attention!”_

“Then stop distracting me!” You get a grip on the pillow, and pull, but Karkat refuses to relinquish it, coming with, falling on the plush, pressing it between your chests.

Oh fuck.

“How the _hell_ am I distracting you?” He snarls, scowling up, towards your face, teeth glinting in the light from the TV. “I’m watching the movie, not saying anything!”

“You...your...I….”

“ _How_ , Egbert?” He screeches, teeth clicking, eyes so bright, so, so red.

“With this!” You scream back, releasing the pillow and instead grabbing a handful of the skirt and, _on accident, you swear,_ Karkat’s ass..

Karkat’s spine goes pole-straight and he looks down at you from his miniscule height vantage. It figures the only time he’d have that is lying down. “Y...you….”

“ _Will you put on some damn pants already!?”_

“You….” Karkat’s eyes are wild. Murderous. Fuck, his teeth are close, you should maybe let that damn skirt go if you want to live a little longer, you—

“No,” Karkat says, words rumbling in your chest, straight though the pillow, which he finally lets go. He uses both hands to grab your hair, holding you in place as he leaps forward, crushing your lips together.

Between your mouths, you manage a strained “Reeeen?” sound. Your mouth is warm, your mind frozen, and your heart has stopped beating.

So it is really impressive when your hands gain their own sentience, unclenching and then getting an actual grip on Karkat’s generous ass, experimentally parting his cheeks—earning a squeak—and pulling at him, up onto you, onto your hips. Karkat’s mouth opens and he breathes out fast and hot, taking one hand from your hair to flail somewhere near his backside. You wonder if he’s going to force you to let go, but instead he pulls out the remote and switches off the TV, leaving you in silence.

“Finally,” you hiss, breaking your lips free.

“Yeah,” Karkat pants, pulling the pillow from between you two, laying full on your chest. “Not spoiling the movie for you. Next time.”

“Your movie is stupid,” you snap.

Karkat gapes at you.

Then his entire body seems to vibrate in your arms.

“It. Is. _On!”_ He says, capturing your lips again.

You’re a lot more active in the process, now, kneading your fingers into Karkat’s backside, moving them around, exploring the sides of his ass and the lovely curve where they shift to his thighs, and up to where the cheeks meet, which makes the trolls’ hands clench and his kisses grow sloppy before you give him relief and go on with the circuit. The entire time, you’re pulling him onto you, opening your mouth so your tongues can push against one another, in a weird tug-of-war. Push-of-war. Kiss-of-war. Whatever. Tangling, exploring, feeling his teeth. They’re sharper than your own canines, but so long as he doesn’t bite down you can still explore his mouth without being lacerated. Karkat is violent, but he wouldn’t _seriously_ hurt you. Not if you’re a potential...a potential…?

“Shit, Karkat,” you say between kisses. “Is this red or—”

Karkat’s hands on your waist tighten, claws breaking the skin, making you scream.

“Got it?” Karkat snarls, taking his claws out. He lifts his hand, holding it between your faces, and begins to run his tongue along each claw, lapping up your blood, thin red streaks a bare contrast on his dark gray tongue.

“I’ll _murder_ you,” you snarl,exerting full mangrit to push Karkat off your chest.

It’s the perfect amount to get him sitting upright, his knees on either side of your hips, staring down at you with wide eyes and an open mouth. His claws, some still red with your blood, twitch. “I...John, I d—”

Your abs scream in protest as they take on your entire upper body weight in a split-second, along with enough force so you can slam your hands into Karkat’s shoulders, toppling him onto his back on the opposite couch arm. His arms pinwheel ineffectively as your body continues the push, leaving his legs bent under his body and you very firmly on top, your hands on his shoulders, pinning him down.

Karkat now looks up at you, mouth still open.

After another ten seconds, he laughs and smiles. “Shit, do not scare me like that, Egb—”

You dig your fingers as hard into the troll’s shoulders as you can manage and shove your hips up between his legs.

Karkat forgets his words and just hisses, bringing his red-tipped claws up to your shirt, slashing, tearing apart the little slime ghost, leaving a few thin wounds on your chest in the process.

“Fuck! Dammit, Karkat!” You flail about with Karkat’s hands until you manage to grab his wrists, falling down on him, pressing your twined fingers next to Karkat’s head, into the armrest, ending by looming over the troll.

You glare down at Karkat, your hair fallen into your eyes, and bare your teeth. “Going to have to clip your claws, Kar-kitty?” You sneer.

“If you can’t manage my _hands_ , I don’t think I want you near anything else, Egbert.”

“Tch,” you reply, bringing your own hands together and switching your grip to hold both of Karkat’s wrists in a single palm, up against his chest. “This all I need to do?” You smirk as your newly freed hand begins moving away, down Karkat’s chest, to his stomach. “I didn’t think you were so easy, Karkat.”

The troll twists, trying to pull his wrists apart, putting his entire body into a writhing motion under your straddling legs. “Shut up, I am not eeeeee! Aaaaaaa-haaaaaaah….”

Beneath you, the Cancer freezes, eyes straining to look down his body. “...shit.”

You nod in agreement and push your palm further into Karkat’s groin, which is still protected by a skirt and panties, but, fuck, they are both made of some fantastically thin material. You’re pretty sure you’re getting his fluids on your hand already. “You sure? You’re giving it up so quick. It’s not even the third date.”

“If you don’t think it is,” Karkat gasps, arching his back, pressing his hips back into your palm, “you’re not paying attention.”

You have to raise a brow at that. “You telling me you’ve been trying to seduce me, Vantas?” The very idea makes you grin. Karkat. Little Karkat, trying to entice you.

With his short skirt.

And round ass.

And his movies he wants to share.

And his...spending time as co-friendleaders.

...Holy shit. _Is_ this the third date? Have you completely failed to notice you were being courted by this troll? It wouldn’t be the first time, but...well, it’s a bit of an ego-bruise to realize you’re still oblivious.

“I am under you,” Karkat pants, twisting and working his contorted legs free so he can cast them about your hips. “No one else is home. I’m in a skirt so short it’s probably illegal.” His hips rock once more and _shit_ , he positioned that well, his entire crotch is riding up your dick. “Yeah. I’m trying to seduce you. Now, will you get your fingers in my nook, or do I need to go find a shame stick to care care of things myself?”

Fingers. Nook. That’s the troll vagina, right? Karkat wants you to play with his weird alien pussy.

You bite your lip and grind your hips down against Karkat’s.

“No, no!” Karkat hisses. “Foreplay! Foreplay, dammit! Or I _will_ need a shame stick!”

“What the fuck is a shame stick?” You grunt, continuing the delicious frottage. Damn, he feels...amazing. You want his nook. Bad. That’s not gay, right? Nope. None of this is gay. He has an alien vagina, and you want to put your dick in that, not his ass, so you are not gay.

“Shit shit _shit_ ,” Karkat keens, defying his own demands by rolling his hips back against yours. “The...the...vibrating thing that—fuck! I don’t know! Lalonde has, like, fifteen!”

You completely fail to think about Rose’s sex toy collection or what she does with them and Kanaya.

Okay. Maybe a little gay.

Because you’re imagining Karkat.

All alone.

Slicking a vibrator through the wet folds of his nook, getting it ready. Sliding up into himself. His nook. His ass? Maybe he’d suck on it, instead. Pretend it was something other than plastic. Pretend it was you, hard and desperate, as he slides it in and out of his nook.

As he bites his hand to keep quiet.

As he trembles and cries.

And still, still unable to keep himself from gasping your name as he cums.

…

Okay, fine.

Your name is John Egbert and you’ve gone full homo. But only... _only_ for Karkat. That...you can deal with.

“Will you fucking _do it!?”_ Karkat is actually sobbing, forcing his legs wide, fighting your hands, trying to bring them down to his own nook.

You consider this. Very seriously.

Well...perhaps it’s only fair. It is the third date. You shake Karkat’s wrists, making his entire body jostle so he looks up at you, eyes wide, pupils blown.

The look you give back is stern, yet, of course, challenging. You’re not sure what he’s going to do as you let his wrists go. Perhaps he considers slashing at your chest, but the troll reigns in his claws, instead grasping at the hem of his shirt, lifting it free for you to work, and looks down his body at your rubbing hips.

You lay both hands on Karkat’s stomach and trail down, over his groin and to the bottom of the skirt, pinching the hem.

This is it. Last chance to back out. Run now or forever have the image of alien wing-wong in your head.

You take a steadying breath and push your hands back up, moving Karkat’s short skirt off his thighs and tight around his generous ass. And you look.

After about ten seconds, you tilt your head.

“Wh...what?” Karkat says, looking you in the face, then down to his crotch, and then back up again.

You consider.

You frown.

“I expected...um...not that?”

Karkat gapes at you.

You shrug.

There’s stuff there. You can see that well enough through the panties. In addition to the huge wet patch from what is—you hope—Karkat’s nook, there is a thick rope of flesh going in a diagonal from his pubis towards his right hip. Yeah. That’s a dick. Bulge. Whatever.

You sort of thought there’d be...mandibles. Or an inter-dimensional portal.

“Egbert,” Karkat growls, claiming your attention. “Fingers. Nook. Now.”

“Okay, Mister Demandy-pants,” you mutter, grabbing the elastic of Karkat’s panties and pulling down to his knees. 

“...oh!” You say, nodding at the final revelation.

Well. There it is.

A thick, moving, shining-wet tentacle instead of a dick.

“...well, that’s more like it,” you mutter.

“Don’t touch it, yet,” Karkat mutters, looking down at his tentacle-dick, which flops to the left, tip twitching. Like an angry cat’s tail. “It’s not sensitive, yet.”

“You’ve got a giant tentacle for a dick, and it isn’t sensitive,” you snort.

“It’s not giant,” Karkat mutters, grabbing the bottom of his shirt and pulling down, hiding about a third of his bulge.

“Oh, no, Karkat,” you say, grabbing his wrist and moving it up to his stomach. “It really,” you say, letting his wrist go and instead taking hold of his shirt, “really,” you go on, lifting the shirt up, exposing the entirety of his genitals, as well as the soft roundness of his stomach, “is,” you finish, letting the shirt go and resting your hands on the troll’s hips, getting a good eyeful of alien dick.

It’s far less unsettling than you thought. Don’t want it in your ass or anything, but….

Your cock throbs.

...Okay, fine. Maybe. On special occasions.

“Look, if you have the time to admire by bulge, you’ve got the time to finger my nook.”

You suspect that this is true and, tentative, you reach out to stroke your fingertips over the slit below your kismesis’s bulge.

It...opens. _Blooms_. At first, a slit, and then a delicate crevice with a wet shine and far more folds than you suspect a human woman has. And they...move. Slowly, almost imperceptible, in an inward pulse. You touch the outer edge, and the undulations seem to guide you in towards the center.

“Okay, now...stroke...careful.” Karkat says, tilting his hips up, spreading his legs wider about your waist.

“Gentle,” you repeat, nodding.

But, hell. This is a kismesis.

You slam your fingers in so hard that Karkat’s body rocks up the couch.

“AAAH!” The troll screeches, sitting up, gaping at you. “What the fuuuuuuuuuu….”

You don’t jackhammer him, as much as the idea tempts you. Instead, you keep your fingers deep and spread them, testing the trolls elasticity. With how much force you have to put behind it, you worry you’re hurting the troll, but when Karkat groans and his bulge writhes, your concern lessens. He’s tight. Ludicrously so. But he seems to relish the stretch, the discomfort.

Thank God, because your cock is aching to pound into that hole. His nook is so desperate that it is definitely pulling on your fingers, attempting to suck your hand in. You’re going to exhaust yourself with Karkat, but it will be so worth it.

“Yeah, that’s...not fucking bad, Egbert,” Karkat says. “Keep doing that and I’ll...hmmm….” What he plans to do isn't’ a mystery for long, as he reaches down and gets a firm grip on his bulge.

You watch, eyes widening, waiting for the troll to begin furiously jacking it. That’s what you’d do if you had two fingers deep in you.

Instead, he squeezes. First at the base of his bulge. Then the middle, and then several rapid pulses at this tip, which makes the mutant gasp, red juices flowing around your fingers and his own.

He’s starting to shake, a pinkish sweat on his brow, and the very sight makes you laugh. “Is it sensitive, now, Karkat?” You accompany this with a swift twist of your fingers, which earns you a glorious cry of “John!”

You’re grinning, but he recovers, giving you a glare. “It’s not...my fault...you’re so...fast.”

“Fast?” You repeat, a laugh in the word.

Then, after a pause, “ _Fast?_ ” You look down at your fingers, which you thought were going at a moderate pace. Hell, you’d have lost your mind if he was doing that to you. Not that Karkat is ever getting his claws in you...there. Nope. That is all kinds of bad times. “Do you want me to slow down?”

“No!” Karkat screams, his hips coming off the couch as if he’s trying to shove your entire hand into his nook. “No, no, please….”

“Calm down there, Karkat.”

“I. Can not. Calm. _Down_. Not when all I can think about is GETTING YOUR STUPID HUMAN BULGE IN MY NOOK.”

Your hands keep moving, through your mind is a bit of a blank.

“...you could ask nicely,” you manage.

“Fuck you,” Karkat growls. “Now shut up and stick it in.”

“You’re such a romantic,” you mutter, but you use your free hand to unbutton your pants. “Shall I light some candles?”

“Only if I get to SET YOU ON FIRE IF YOU DON’T START FUCKING ME RIGHT NOW!”

You unzip. “So...no.”

“GOG DAMNIT, EGBERT!”

“Shhhh,” you say, and you can see a little atom bomb going off behind his eyes. You wonder if you should be restraining the troll again, but you can’t take your dick out of your pants, finger Karkat, and hold him down all at once. It’s like that cabbage-goose-fox riddle.

“Don’t you _dare_ flip pale on me, now, Egbert, I am too fucking—”

Oh, what the hell. You snort and take your fingers out of Karkat and slap that quite wet hand over his mouth, making sure to wiggle your fingers enough to spread the red onto your kismesis’s cheeks. What could have been mistaken as a pap is very firmly denied by how hard you press. His breath can only come out of his nose, now, and it’s hot and fast and, yeah, as with anything with Karkat, it’s _angry._

“Shut the fuck up,” you grumble and do as your told, shoving your cock into Karkat’s neglected nook.

He screams around your hand...aaaaand he bites you.

“SHIT!” Your voice is too high, too unmanly, but fuck, if he didn’t draw blood, then you’re at least going to have fingers so bruised you won’t be able to hold anything for a few days.

Under your palm, you can feel Karkat’s smile. It is wide and genuine and his eyes sparkle with affection.

“Asshole,” you hiss and draw back enough to slam back in until your hips impact against your lover’s ass.

The smile is gone, Karkat’s mouth is open, his breath hot on your palm, and you just spear him again.

He says something and, though it is quite muffled, you’re 100% sure he just said the magic word.

You growl, taking your hand away from the troll’s mouth, grabbing Karkat’s hair, pulling his face up towards your own. “ _What?”_

“John!” Karkat repeats, grabbing your shoulders with one hand, squeezing his bulge with the other, rocking his hips to meet yours. “Harder!”

You smirk, letting his head go so it thumps back on the couch, resting your hand besides Karkat’s head so you can shift, leaning over him, your face inches from his, your free hand sliding under the troll’s skirt to get a good measure of ass. “Sure,” you say, and comply.

The couch creaks. Karkat’s body rocks, sliding up the arm rest until his shoulder presses into your forearm and he is stabilized. He’s contorting, trying to match your pace, arching his hips up and trying to get you as deep as possible, but there’s not much else he can do but be fucked.

He has one hand in your hair, now, fighting with you, pulling your face down for a quick, open-mouthed kiss here and there before you exert your mangrit and pull away. Karkat isn’t weak, but he has nothing on you.

His other hand is still on his bulge, squeezing fast, moving up and down his length, not in a jerking motion, but just trying to give his entire bulge attention. His weird way of getting off makes far more sense when you feel a sudden, tight clench on your dick.

It’s not him hitting orgasm. His cries don’t pitch up fast, just continue their gradual rise. It’s just...his nook...squeezing you. Just like Karkat’s hand squeezes his bulge

Shit, you should help with that, but he’s probably doing it just how he likes. And, besides, it might interrupt your rhythm. And you’d have to let his ass go….

Nope. Not happening. In fact, you just grab harder, thrust like you’re trying to pierce right through the smaller man.

“F-fuck, John!” Karkat cries. “My legs...tired...can’t...need break…”

“Nope,” you say, sitting up, grabbing Karkat’s ankles and hoisting them to your shoulders. Karkat slips down off the arm rest and his eyes widen, scandalized, but you don’t have time to reassure him. His legs secured over your shoulders, you get two generous handfuls of ass and skirt and get back to fucking your awful kismesis into the cushions.

Karkat is saying something, you’re not sure what, but it doesn’t sound distressed, so you don’t care. His nook is quaking around you, his skirt is so cute, his face is red and there is sweat-slicked hair in his eyes. He’s beautiful. God damn you love him, full homo, whatever, he’s yours, yes, Karkat. Is. _Yours._

“I...I…” You pant. You’re out of breath. Can’t speak properly.

“John, yes, so good,” Karkat whimpers, genetic material dripping off his bulge, which he can’t  touch anymore, bent almost double.

“I...shit,” you’re not going to last, fucking him is a struggle, his nook is tight, slick, warm, and the sounds he makes are perfection.

“Close,” you grunt, and Karkat groans, disgusted.

“No, make me spill, you disgusting, buck-tooth, clumsy, bulgeless, worthless—”

“I HATE YOU!” You scream at him with the very last air in your lungs, spots flashing before your eyes as you try to get in a new breath.

Karkat’s eyes snap open, he gapes at you. You wonder, for a moment, if he did that quadrant vacation whatever, is he red, did you fuck this up, you’re the word boyfriend ever!

Then, holy shit, Karkat’s bulge begins to spurt on his own face. It is red and there is a _lot_ of it.

“JOHN, YOU FUCKASS, I HATE YOU, TOO!”

It is the stupidest declaration of love ever, and you start laughing.

For about two seconds.

Then Karkat’s orgasm travels from his bulge to his nook and _holy shit, what is it doing, that’s amazing._

You don’t even realize when you start cumming. It’s all so much, so intense, so complete that you feel like he is going to pull every bit of yourself—body, soul, hatred—into himself.

When you come down a minute later, muscles ruined, body shaking, you have to take a good dozen breaths to stop feeling dizzy, and your heart continues to pound.

“Woah...that was….” You blink.

Below you, Karkat is still moaning. Squirming. Squeezing his bulge and jerking his hips, trying to hump your dick.

It’s...sort of getting uncomfortable.

Swiftly, you pull out, releasing a fluid made almost exclusively of red on your shirt and pants and, yes, the couch. Karkat keens, looking at you with blurred eyes.

“Oh, calm down,” you mutter, taking Karkat’s legs off from around your shoulders. You haven’t even fully settled him on the couch before you’ve shifted down and replace your cock with your tongue, trying to _not_ think about what you’re licking up. It’s just Karkat. Only Karkat. And the idea of pleasing a woman with your tongue has never bothered you, so alien genitals are not going to weird you out.

Even if you’re fucking sure it tastes like cherries. But that could be Terezi’s influence hitting your brain.

Whatever. You just lick, clumsy, no clue what you’re doing, but with some sort of effect, it seems, since Karkat stops whining and just squeezes himself, body rolling as he’s hit by the waves of sensation.

You sort of wish you had a stop watch. Your heart has steadied and your jaw hurts by the time Karkat lets out one final, deep groan and lets his body relax, flopping his arms about his head.

Your duty presumably done, you sit up and scrunch up your face. Yeah. It’s really, really wet. You bet you look like you’ve got a terrible sunburn or something. After a moment’s consideration, you lean down and drag your face over Karkat’s shirt, wiping it clean.

The troll’s head tilts down and, where you expected scowls and curses, he gives a fond smile.

You return it. You’re catching on to this kismesis thing.

“Next time,” Karkat grumbles, “not so fucking fast. I won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

You’re very proud of that, but you force yourself to frown. Karkat must be just sex-addled enough to not realize why you would be lifting your hand.

You land it on the side of one ass-cheek with such a resounding _crack_ that there’s an echo all through the apartment.

Karkat screeches and you laugh. And laugh. And laugh. “If you couldn’t before, you definitely can’t now!”

He is sitting up, in your lap, forcing you up, as well. Karkat is trying to claw at your face, but you grab his wrists before they do any further damage. The two of you struggle, him spitting insults, you laughing and pulling him in for kisses, which he responds to like a five year old on the playground, spluttering and trying to bring up his weakened legs up to kick you.

He’s just loud enough that you both fail to hear the door creak open.

“...ahem,” a raised, but serene voice calls from the entryway.

You and Karkat freeze. The new stiffy you’d been building up during wrestling goes flaccid in a heartbeat.

You look over your shoulder.

Kanaya frowns, arms crossed, and drops her purse.

Rose smiles and leans over, picking up Vodka Mutini, giving him a nuzzle. She meets your eyes and you know she knows. But that is not what makes your dick shrink up, almost _inside_ your body.

“What are you doing?” Kanaya asks.

Oh, shit.

...uh...maybe you can get out of this. Your clothes are all on, but for Karkat’s panties about his knees. And your face shouldn’t be _stained_ red. Maybe, maybe, you can just say it was hate flirting and not hate-fucking and then...run like hell?

But Kanaya’s nose twitches. And you know. You know, with all the genetic material Karkat spilled and your collective sweat, the apartment must reek. _She can smell that you were boning._

The cliche would be that a light bulb turns on. But no. Not for a rainbow drinker. No passing on the duties. Kanaya’s eyes snap open and she is blazing like a torch.

She’s going to drink you dry for fucking her moirail.

“KARKAT VANTAS, YOU ARE REPLACING THAT COUCH OR SO HELP ME—YOU HAVE A CONCUPISCENT PLATFORM, USE IT!”

Karkat gets tiny in your arms. For a brief moment, you pity him.

Then he points at you and whispers, “It was his idea.”

With glacial slowness, Kanaya turns her attention on you.

You have nothing to lose here, so you give her a friendly smile.

You swear, Maryam’s jaw _unhinges_ and she hisses so loud that Mutini puffs up to twice his size.

You join Karkat in shrinking to half your former size. You hold one another close.

The two of you sit there in your fluids and musk, listening to Kanaya’s screams, nodding and apologizing for the next half hour.


End file.
